


Bad Thoughts

by Cali_brate



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mullet Stan Pines, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24356317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cali_brate/pseuds/Cali_brate
Summary: Guns were never his style, y’know? They were impersonal, and there just wasn’t the satisfaction like hitting someone with a fist. He did have one, of course
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40
Collections: Gravity Falls Oneshots





	Bad Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: Calibrate get better coping mechanisms
> 
> It's been a few days and I've been back and forth about posting this, cause it's a little dark?
> 
> Don't worry though, I'm too scared to write anything too dark yet.

Guns were never his style, y’know? They were impersonal, and there just wasn’t the satisfaction like hitting someone with a fist. He did have one, of course. Picked it up who knows where a few months ago. It sat in the glove box, under a stack of random crap. He wasn’t sure if it was loaded even. 

Some nights he would stare at the glove box, wondering if it was loaded.

Other times he would forget about it when he really could’ve used it to get him out of a jam.

Tonight was a stare at the glove box night.

It was just after midnight. He was pulled over on the side of a country road, pretending he could sleep. Those creeps were probably still looking for him. He shouldn’t have stepped in, but they were just kids, y’know? He always tried to protect the kids from the assholes out there. Usually it just ended with a fist fight, and he was good at winning those. But whatever he had gotten in the middle of, they were really mad at him.

The thing was, he saw himself in everyone of those kids. He had been a child when he was kicked out, even if he hadn’t realized it at the time. But now that it had been a few years, he realized that his father was, and he meant it with every fiber of his being, a fucking piece of shit. Looking back, he was amazed it took as long as it did for dear old dad to kick him to the curb. Seeing kids younger than he had been out on the streets just made him angry.

And it was nights like these that made him think, he could just stop. It wouldn’t be too hard. And, wouldn’t he be better off? He wouldn’t have to think anymore, wouldn’t have to worry anymore, wouldn’t have to do anything anymore. And it’s not like it would matter to anyone. No one cared about him. At least then everyone would know what happened to the unwanted child.

Every once in a while he called home, just to let Ma know he was fine, even if ‘fine’ wasn’t true. She always seemed so happy to hear from him, would ask about him, and would tell him what his brothers were up to. He was glad his brothers were doing fine. Even though he knew one of them hated him, he could never hate him back. Ma probably wouldn’t even notice if he stopped calling though.

He opened the glove box. A pile of papers and other shit tumbled out. He brushed the rest out, and pulled out the weapon. It felt weird in his hands. He had shot a gun before, but it always felt wrong, pulling the trigger.

Would this feel wrong?

He almost killed a man once. It was two years ago. To be fair, the man was trying to kill him. He was bleeding from so many places it had stopped mattering to him to try and stop it. The man came at him, slashing again with the knife, and by some miracle, he had managed to get a hold of it and out of the man’s hands. Without thinking he had pushed the man back against a wall, and held the knife to his throat, just hard enough to break skin. But a voice in the back of his head told him to stop, that this wasn’t something he needed on his conscience. So instead, he hit the man as hard as he could in the jaw, and ran. 

He was good at running. Well, not the physical act of running. He was good at getting out of all the shitty situations he was stuck in. And he was in a shitty situation about five days of the week. Being able to sweet talk or punch his way out of things had kept him alive until now.

The metal of the gun was cool in his hands. 

It was June. His twenty fifth birthday was in two days. That was just a reminder of everything he had lost. His birthday was always the worst, at least the times he remembered it. He had spent seventeen years celebrating his birthday with his best friend. Now he had no friends. He didn’t have family. He had him, his car, and this gun.

He pressed the cool metal to his temple. 

He pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked. 

It wasn’t loaded. 

He wouldn’t say he was relieved. He wasn’t sure he had wanted it to be loaded, but now he had to keep thinking. The gun went back in the glove box. He started the car. Maybe the universe had plans for him.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_ (ツ)_/¯


End file.
